Keith Baker - Son of Khyber

Part of Thorn wanted to hurl her blade, to fight or flee as quickly as possible. And yet, there were no signs that Daine had alerted any guards. And his confidence was both unnerving and curious. What did he know about her?

“If you believe this, why am I still alive?”

“Because in spite of what you may believe, we are not enemies. Come. Lower your glamer and listen to what I have to say. And if I am wrong”-he slowly lowered his sword-“you will have your chance to kill me.”

Close and strike, Steel told her. Finish this. “And Xu’sasar?” Thorn said.

Daine glanced at the mass of bones, and the lines traced across his left eye gleamed. “She will live. And I think this is a matter best kept between the two of us.” He turned and walked slowly out of the chamber. “Follow or fight, as you will.”

His back was exposed. Now was the moment. There were a host of vital areas Thorn could strike. Still she hesitated. If he wanted her dead, he could have turned the whole garrison against her. He actually wanted to talk to her. Why?

Lantern Thorn, do your duty! Steel said.

“Perhaps I am,” she whispered, returning the dagger to his sheath. She followed Daine from the hall, kicking the skull of a young goblin out of the way.

Images of Khorvaire were engraved on the walls of Daine’s chamber-tactical maps ranging in scope from a detailed map of Breland to a broad view of the entire continent. Chalk lines covered the walls, notes and details that only made sense to the Son of Khyber. In-depth maps of Sharn had been glued to one part of the wall. Aside from the maps, the room was surprisingly austere. Writing supplies were set atop a battered chest, and the only piece of furniture was a stone slab covered with a thin blanket, which presumably served a bed.

“I don’t sleep much,” Daine said, following her gaze. “I’ve spent too much time in dreams, and there are things I’d rather not see again.”

Presumably he was referring to the strange tale he’d told the assembled crowd, of being a man drawn out of time. Did he truly believe this? Still, at the moment, there were more pressing issues.

“You say you know who I am.” Thorn didn’t feel like listening to Steel at the moment, but she still kept her hand close to his hilt. As curious as she was, it was hard to imagine what he might say that would turn her from her path.

“Yes,” Daine said. “A Dark Lantern, troubled by dreams and dragonshards.”

“And how can you know that?”

He looked at her, his gaze oddly distorted by the dragonmark running across his left eye. For the first time, she felt a sense of uncertainty about him. Up to now, he had always been the strong leader, never a sign of doubt or weakness. But now he hesitated, and for a moment she felt that she was looking at just Daine, as opposed to the Son of Khyber. “You heard the story I told before. To you it may sound like madness, but I lived through it. I spent centuries in dreams, and I saw glimpses of what lies ahead-glimpses of the Prophecy. I saw you at my side. I don’t know why. I don’t know exactly what role you have to play in the challenges that lie ahead. But I know that you are a part of this, and I told Fileon to watch for you.”

“And yet you know that I serve the Citadel. Aren’t you afraid that I’ll kill you?”

He smiled. “Not as simple as you might think, I assure you. And I knew it was a risk.”

“And yet you brought me down here. Why?”

“Two reasons, I suppose. I know that the Twelve have coerced the Citadel into investigating our actions. They know that we have been building our forces, though they don’t realize the danger that they face. I believe that when you learn all the facts, you will do the right thing.”

Thorn considered this. “That’s one. What’s the other?”

“You’ve been sent to kill me. And I think that you could, when the time is right. But not tonight.”

They say madness is the price of an aberrant mark, Thorn thought. “So what are these facts that will stay my hand?”

“Lessons you’ve learned these past few days. You’ve heard of Fileon’s betrayal. In Sorghan d’Deneith you’ve faced the blind hatred of the houses.”

Thorn laughed. “Not much of an argument. One bigot hardly incriminates his entire house, regardless of how vile he is. And Fileon’s tale is just that: a story. From someone I’m surprised you of all people would ask me to trust, I might add.”

“Tell me you don’t believe it. Why are you here now? As a tool of the Twelve. Today they command your service. Tomorrow they might call for your death. Tell me you’re comfortable with these merchants buying your services. I’ve heard that you told Fileon that you wouldn’t kill for gold. Tell me, then: what is it you were about to do?”

Thorn said nothing. These were the same fears she’d already had. He might just as well have been reading her mind.

Daine smiled. “Tomorrow we will destroy a Cannith forgehold.”

“So you’ve said. I fail to see the benefit to Breland.”

“That’s because you’ve never heard of our target. We’re not going to attack the central enclave. The strike will target a facility hidden below Sharn: the personal holding of Merrix d’Cannith.”

Thorn frowned. “So it’s not a public facility. It’s still supplying industrial support to Brela-”

“Nothing done in this forgehold will ever be shared with Breland. This isn’t just a private workshop. Lord Merrix has a creation forge here in Sharn, in direct violation of the Treaty of Thronehold.”

Thorn wrapped her fingers around Steel’s hilt. The dagger’s presence flowed into her mind, and she could feel his surprise. The creation forges were the greatest inventions of House Cannith. They were the engines that produced the warforged, living soldiers of metal and wood. During the Last War, Cannith had produced tens of thousands of warforged, selling them to every nation. When the struggle came to an end, the Treaty of hronehold included the provision that all creation forges would be destroyed-an effort to limit Cannith’s power and prevent an arms race. If Merrix had a working creation forge, he was challenging the direct orders of the sovereigns of Khorvaire. And if he had a creation forge, he could have a warforged army of his own.

What is his proof? Steel asked.

“How would you know about this?” Thorn asked.

“You’ve seen the boy,” Daine told her. “That… thing in the shape of a child. Tell me that doesn’t concern you, that you don’t see the danger it represents.”

Thorn said nothing, but the image of the corpse flashed through her mind, the body with the socket in its chest.

“Dreck learned of the boy, knew that he’d been made in a secret forge, but he couldn’t find its location. But the boy knew the place of his birth.” Daine turned up his left palm, and the glowing dragonmark crawled across his skin. “I have power to bind souls within my mark. I can still hear their voices, and with effort I can draw on their memories. Merrix’s son had a semblance of a soul trapped within its shell. I saw the forge itself through that boy’s eyes, and it’s his memories that will lead us to it.”

As before, the lines of the mark began to pull free of Daine’s skin, rising up from his palm. As it did, the stone at the base of her spine grew even colder, and Daine himself winced. He clenched his fist, pressing the mark against his flesh, and the chill in the stone passed.

“Fight at my side tomorrow,” Daine said. “Give me the chance to prove what I have told you. My people are no threat to Breland. It is the ambition of the dragonmarked houses that threatens us all. They are no longer afraid of Galifar. They are using you. And unless something is done, it is only a matter of time before the balance of power fully slips into their grasp.”